


Five Times We Chose

by thelightofmorning



Series: Tales of the Aurelii [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Child Neglect, Corpse Desecration, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Morality, Fantastic Racism, Forced Marriage, Gen, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Prequel, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: War forces difficult choices and moral dilemmas on people. Some rise to the occasion and maintain their ideals while others choose expediency for the greater good. As to who is the victor and who is the loser, that is a question for the priests and the historians. Irkand. Rikke. Rustem. Sigdrifa. Ulfric. Their choices define the future of Skyrim and even the world.





	1. Hard Choices (Irkand)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration, torture, genocide, war crimes, criminal acts, child abuse/neglect/abandonment/death, imprisonment, drug/alcohol abuse and mentions of rape/non-con and forced marriage. Snapshots of the Great War and its aftermath in the Aureliiverse.  Some AU elements to the Elder Scrolls Legends storyline.

 

Irkand Aurelius knelt and closed Tyr’s eyes. The dremora Reive was dead and Boethiah’s own weapon Goldbrand now rested in his hand. It was finely balanced, a longer sword than he preferred but not dissimilar to the katana. Its value as a Daedric artefact exceeded any qualms he possessed about wielding it. Now wasn’t the time to be concerned with sentimentality or Aedric disapproval.

            The Nord Legate they’d picked up in southern Skyrim spat in disgust. “How could you throw away his life like that?” she demanded as Irkand pocketed the Orb of Vaermina. “He was a Blade of Talos!”

            “And so am I,” Irkand reminded her mildly. “Tyr understood hard choices. We have the means with which Naarifin was tracking General Jonna’s army. Now you can make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain and fall into line or you can report back to the Emperor and explain why we failed in our duty.”

            Her square jaw set stubbornly. “He deserved better than that.”

            “I thought an honourable death was what Nords wanted?” Irkand asked of the air.

            “There was no honour in his end. But I don’t expect a Redguard to understand that.” Rikke wiped her gladius on Reive’s tunic and sheathed it before swinging her shield onto her back. “Let’s go.”

            They arrived just in time to rescue the Emperor from Dominion assassins. Bosmeri suicide commandoes from the looks of it. Poor bastards. Unfortunately, Titus Mede was injured and while the wound was far from fatal, he was in no position to lead the troops.

            “We have the Orb and Goldbrand,” Irkand announced as Laaneth rushed to heal Mede.

            “Efficient as always,” Mede gasped. “Irkand… I must ask another thing of you.”

            “What is it?”

            “Put on my armour and lead the troops. Jonna assures me Rikke has enough tactical acumen to cover your lack of skills in that area.” Titus grimaced as Laaneth removed poison from the wound.

            “Jonna was my mentor during my Shieldmaiden training,” Rikke said proudly. “I won’t fail her.”

            Irkand’s eyebrow shot up. “Shieldmaiden? Did you know Sigdrifa?”

            “Sadly, yes.” Rikke’s tone brooked no more questions. Interesting. It appeared his sister-in-law was no more liked by her fellow Shieldmaidens as she was by the Blades.

            Titus Mede was Colovian and therefore heavier of build than the Nibenese, though Irkand had a few inches on him as a Colovian-bred Redguard. Irkand donned the armour, letting out the straps as much as could be safely dared, and belted Goldbrand over the scarlet silk surcoat. Pretentious Breton-made shit, though not as gaudy as most wares from High Rock.

            “Cover my back,” he grated to Laaneth and Swims-at-Night. “Bretons couldn’t make decent armour if you gave them the instructions.”

            In the history books, it would be written that Emperor Titus Mede personally led the charge to the gates of the Imperial City, battled past the Conjured creatures unleashed by Naarifin, and decapitated the Altmer general with Goldbrand. The reality was vastly different and by the time the Battle of the Red Ring was over, only three people alive knew the truth.

            Within the week, Titus Mede had signed the White-Gold Concordat. Irkand was in the infirmary when Rikke, now raised as the youngest Legate Primus in recent history, stormed in. Of course, a Shieldmaiden would be infuriated at the forbiddance of Talos worship. Irkand was philosophical about the whole thing, personally.

            “I heard and I already sent word to my kin at Cloud Ruler,” he told her. “If my father is wise, he’ll retreat to Skyrim. There’s an old Akaviri temple there.”

            “You’re a bit late,” Rikke said flatly. “Your father’s raised rebellion in County Bruma. The Emperor just gave the Thalmor carte blanche to do as they wish to the Blades.”

            Irkand struggled to his feet. “Dammit, there’s civilians we need to evacuate! Where the hell is Mede?”

            Titus was in his private study. “Your father’s put me in a difficult position,” the Emperor said grimly. “I can only forgive so much from the line of the Hero of Kvatch.”

            Irkand took a deep breath. “I only sent a message to warn the Blades to scatter and hide, my Emperor.”

            “I know.” Titus sighed heavily. “I have issued a proclamation declaring you Immunitas.”

            “I have a niece. Eight years old. Do I have permission to go north and get her and the other civilians out?”

            “I will send word to the Legion. But you can’t go there, Irkand. The Thalmor want you dead for Naarifin. The Empire needs you here, alive.”

            “I’ll go,” Rikke offered. “I’m not fond of Sigdrifa but she’s a Shieldmaiden and her daughter’s innocent.”

            Titus nodded. “Yes, you would know the fastest routes north. It was Jarl Dengeir of Falkreath who alerted me to the rebellion. Arius wanted him to hold the northern end of the Pale Pass while the Blades took the south.”

            Rikke saluted and left.

            “If this is a response to Talos worship being made illegal, I’d have thought the Nords would be backing Arius,” Irkand said carefully. He had to remain detached about this. His father was making a grave mistake.

            “Arius made claims of descent from Martin Septim,” Mede said grimly. “Dengeir was apparently disappointed they’re not true.”

            Irkand sighed. “If I may speak frankly, I think my father’s gone senile and is panicking.”

            “That’s as may be but I must have this rebellion crushed hard, Irkand. It’s the cross for your father and the senior Blades.” Titus’ expression was cold. “It’s easier to let the Thalmor sate their blood-rage on traitors than it is to weaken my own people. I don’t want to unleash the Legion on them.”

            “I understand,” Irkand said heavily.

            “Of all the Blades, I rather thought you would.” Titus Mede returned to looking out the window. “Your brother is in Hammerfell. Once my agents prove he had nothing to do with Arius’ actions, we’ll allow him to return home. Gods willing Rikke can find your niece in time.”

            “Thank you,” Irkand replied. He knew such mercy would come at a heavy price. Damn his father for his actions. Damn him for being a senile old fool.

            He understood hard choices.


	2. The Greater Good (Rikke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing.

 

Even with use of the Legion courier relay, it took Rikke two days of dawn to dusk riding to reach Bruma. Smoke billowing from the heights of the Jeralls proved the Thalmor’s arrival before her and several blackcoats were already lining up Talos worshippers for the block. The choice they gave the civilians was simple: renounce the Hero-God or die. Rikke touched her left wrist, where the runes dedicating her to Talos were branded, and prayed silently that the Thalmor didn’t know what to look for.

            Shieldmaidens were generally worshippers of Talos, though a few of the old faith dedicated themselves to Shor, Tsun or Stuhn. They were expected to remain unmarried and preferably celibate, take at least one oath in their lifetime, and do whatever they had to fulfil it. Rikke was the daughter and granddaughter of soldiers. Her oath to defend the Empire of Tiber Septim made sense when she left Yngvild ten years ago to join the Legion. Now she faced potential execution if it was discovered she worshipped Talos.

            “Legate.” One of the Altmer, a lean well-bred sort with saffron eyes and a shaven skull, glanced in her direction. “Can you please explain to your civilians that Talos worship is now illegal? I dislike unnecessary executions.”

            “You might be the first,” muttered one of the Bruma Nords.

            The Thalmor heaved a sigh. “It may come as a surprise, Nord, but this is for the betterment of everyone. Tiber Septim was a brutal, bloody warlord who decimated half of Tamriel. He did as much damage to Skyrim as he did to Alinor. He’s no god by any means and you demean yourself by worshipping him as such.”

            Rikke looked between the Justicar – she recognised the cut of his coat – and the Bruma Nord. With her training and the Nords’ determination, she could overwhelm the Thalmor and lead them up to Cloud Ruler Temple to relieve the Blades. They could fall back into the Pale Pass, use sorcery to bring down the snow and buy them time until spring, and unite Skyrim against the Thalmor.

            “Legate?” The Justicar’s voice was now sharp.

            Rikke could restart the war right here and now.

            _“Blades understand hard choices,”_ she remembered Irkand saying.

            Rikke took a breath… and released it. Skyrim and the Empire needed time to rebuild. “Talos… isn’t a god. Never was. The Blades are traitors to the Empire and Arius Aurelius a would-be usurper. Take the oath and return home. No one needs to die today.”

            Shieldmaidens were permitted to do whatever it took to keep their oath. Rikke was protecting these civilians and Skyrim by denying her god. She was doing it for the greater good.


	3. Do Better (Rustem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death (including that of a child), violence and mentions of forced marriage.

 

Beroc ibn Sura-Mai al-Dragonstar was the Redguard father Rustem should have had. In his early sixties and still vigorous, he led the western Hammerfell forces against the Thalmor, supported by a number of ‘invalid’ Redguard Legionnaires who stayed behind to protect their homeland. Rustem commanded these troops because someone had to. Miracle of miracles, he was quite good at it.

            Now they were flush against the border with Skyrim, the fir trees of Falkreath just past the border gate, and a slightly nervous black-haired Nord with turquoise eyes was delivering some very bad news to the Redguard commanders. Beroc was practically puce with rage, a rare thing for the Forebear ruler of Dragonstar, and Balgeir clearly wanted to be elsewhere. Rustem had to give his ex-wife’s uncle points for balls though. Most men would have broken and run in the face of an infuriated Beroc.

            “Balgeir, what the fuck’s going on?” Rustem demanded as he pushed past Kematu the Elder, a Crown with more connections than combat ability.

            “The Emperor has signed southern Hammerfell away, outlawed the worship of Talos, and allowed the Thalmor free reign,” the Nord repeated uneasily. “Given your lying bastard of a father’s rebellion, he had no choice.”

            “It was my grandfather who was the bastard,” Rustem said very softly. “Tell me again, what the _fuck_ is going on?”

            “Arius Aurelius raised a rebellion in County Bruma and tried to get us to join him,” Balgeir responded. “He’s been crucified for his efforts and Cloud Ruler Temple burned by the Thalmor. Everyone within was massacred… including your daughter. Sigdrifa barely escaped because she was escorting Jarl Hoag’s son home.”

            Rustem blanched. He and Sigdrifa had been dragged to the altar and proven to be incompatible in every sense of the word. But even after his very public affair to end their shambles of a marriage, he still tried to make sure their daughter was alright.

            Beroc wrestled his rage into submission. “Does the Emperor think we’ll submit to half our land been given away?”

            “You’d do so if you were wise.” Balgeir didn’t even look at Beroc but remained focused on Rustem.

            “And if you were _wise_ , Nord, you’d get the fuck back over your border,” Beroc growled with barely leashed rage. “High King Sura needs to know this immediately!”

            “Your father lied about his lineage. You’re descended from a drunk half-Orc who lucked into becoming a hero. Martin Septim wouldn’t have touched _that_ with a ten-foot pole.” Balgeir glared at Rustem. “Now fuck off and never let me see your whoring arse in Falkreath Hold again.”

            Rustem could admit he’d committed adultery on Sigdrifa and probably hadn’t been a very good husband. He honestly thought his father’s claims of being a Septim made him batshit crazy. And very technically, Aurelia Northstar _had_ been the daughter of a Nord and an Orc. “You’re telling me Sigdrifa didn’t even think to send Callaina away for her own safety?” he asked through gritted teeth.

            Balgeir shrugged. “Where to? She was escorting Ulfric home. Your idiot father got the girl killed.”

            Rustem’s mouth spread into something that only the stupid would call a smile. “Now, that’s just offensive. I’ve never lied to Sigdrifa in my life. Cheated on her? Yeah, because it was the only way to get her to renounce the marriage. But to call me a liar? That’s uncalled for.”

            He wasn’t sure who struck Balgeir first. But between Beroc’s nimcha and Rustem’s naginata, the arrogant Kreathling Nord didn’t stand a chance. His corpse crumpled to the ground in pieces.

            Beroc remounted his fine blood bay stallion. “I’m sorry about your father and daughter,” the Forebear said tightly. “But we need to ride. Sura-Dar needs to know about this as soon as possible. The Empire’s abandoned us.”

            Rustem nodded and remounted himself. “Agreed. Hammerfell is my home and I’ll be damned before I see it in goldskin hands.”

            He didn’t look back at the crumpled corpse of Balgeir. “I’m not a man of the Legion, not anymore. I will renounce any ties and claims I have to Imperial lands and titles. They can kiss my arse.”

            Beroc nodded. “What about your wife?”

            “What wife? I’m a single man. Speaking of which, don’t you have a daughter?”

            If Sigdrifa was just going to pretend their marriage never happened, well so could Rustem. He’d do better by this new wife and any children they had.


	4. Sacrifices (Sigdrifa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for child abuse, neglect and abandonment and mentions of forced marriage.

 

“The girl needs to go. The Aurelii are as mad as their ancestress and she’s a mage on top of that!”

            Sigdrifa had honestly tried her best. Rustem was a disrespectful, impious wretch born to a lying madman, but she gritted her teeth and endured for as long as she could until his blatant adultery with Delphine. That allowed her to end the marriage informally and make plans for a divorce and a hopeful return to Yngvild with another potential Shieldmaiden in tow. Sadly, Callaina was too scrawny, too sickly, and not likely to grow out of it as most of the Kreathling babies did. She’d tried to toughen her up but the child was just too frail. The old women advised her not to get attached to the sickly ones, so she decided to ignore her until Arius decided to fight the Thalmor instead of flee.

            The Stormsword was harsh, but she wasn’t so harsh as to let her own blood be killed horribly by goldskins. So she reluctantly brought her to Falkreath with Ulfric, Delphine and Esbern. The two Blades were already gone. Callaina had been handed over to Nenya, the half-Nord Altmer surely able to find a use for her, and Sigdrifa turned her attention to the next battle.

            Callaina had to ruin everything by using magic in front of her grandfather and now Dengeir wanted her gone. Sigdrifa couldn’t fault him, not after Rustem had murdered Balgeir on the border. The problem was where to send her. Morthal was a possibility; magic and insanity ran in the Ravencrone line. Rumour mentioned a Blade in Bloated Man’s Grotto. Esbern was in Winterhold and Delphine the Rift. It would be simplicity to drop the girl off with one of them on the way to Windhelm with Ulfric.

            “Are you listening to me?” Dengeir demanded of his daughter.

            “Yes,” she replied testily. “I was just trying to figure out where to send her.”

            “Who cares?” Dengeir took a deep breath. “She’s not your daughter, Sigdrifa. Your marriage never happened.”

            “So we’re passing her off as one of Balgeir’s many bastards then?” Sigdrifa asked. Her uncle had been near as bad as Rustem. No, worse. At least Rustem never lied.

            “No. We’re completely disowning her. I don’t care if she lives or dies. I won’t have that tainted magic in my bloodline!”

            Callaina was just old enough and certainly intelligent enough to understand Dengeir’s words. Eight years old and she was built like a half-grown Cyrod, stunted like a starving Redguard, and shivering like a Breton in a winter breeze. If she’d had the strength and courage to match her intelligence, she might have been something useful.

            Sigdrifa ignored the pleading in the girl’s eyes. True Nords never cowered, never quaked, never pleaded. “I’ll find somewhere near habitation. We want her gone, not dead. I don’t want an ice wraith haunting us.”

            “I don’t care. Just get rid of her.” Dengeir sighed. “Letting you marry Rustem was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

            “We agree.” Sigdrifa echoed her father’s sigh. “If you’re pretending I never wed that sack of shit…”

            “You and Ulfric,” Dengeir said quietly. “We must bide our time for a while, comply with the Imperials. The Thalmor will separate the weak from the strong. Sacrifices must be made, my daughter.”

            “You don’t think as a Shieldmaiden of Talos I don’t know that?” she asked flatly. “I know far better than you of sacrifice, Father.”

            Dengeir avoided her gaze. “Of course. Go tonight. The Legion’s due tomorrow.”

            They left Callaina at a farm just outside Whiterun with an admonishment to forget she was Aurelii. “We’re all better off this way,” Sigdrifa reassured her. “Your grandfather was a traitor and your father an adulterer. Maybe you’ll become a true Nord… or something resembling it.”

            She didn’t look back, though Ulfric did. He would learn that sacrifices needed to be made. Or he would die. For the good of Talos and Skyrim, everyone was expendable.


	5. Strength (Ulfric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of child abuse, neglect, abandonment, forced marriage, child soldiers, torture, imprisonment, rape/non-con, war crimes and drug/alcohol abuse.

 

Ulfric looked back at the child before glancing at Sigdrifa. Her face was stony in the moonlight, turquoise eyes glittering, and he felt a thrill of fear. Shieldmaidens were heartless, remorseless forces of nature, the distillation of the ruthlessness that allowed Jarls to hold this land against man and mer since Ysgramor’s Return. Most worshipped Talos, for He understood the necessity behind their pragmatism. Ulfric, once sworn to Kynareth, was frightened.

            “I take no joy in this,” the Stormsword said harshly. “I think my father wanted us to kill her and bury her in the wood.”

            “Your father is… unstable,” Ulfric finally said.

            “Yes. It’s the Reacher witchery from Lost Valley. My mother came from there and when she died, the Reachmen blamed Father.” Sigdrifa sighed heavily. “Balgeir was too spendthrift and Thadgeir lacks the spine to rule. Father is unstable but capable enough to rule with Nenya’s help until Siddgeir or any child of ours is old enough to take the Stag Throne.”

            Ulfric hugged himself against the chill. That’s what he told himself. The calm, reasoned tones were exactly like Elenwen’s as she explained why it was necessary to break him down and rebuild him. _“Men are beasts who needed to be properly trained,”_ Naarifin’s daughter crooned. _“You are a good beast, aren’t you?”_

When he broke and revealed the information that brought down the Imperial City, she’d patted his head and healed him. He’d been _proud_ he was a good beast.

            Ulfric knew that Sigdrifa would kill him if she knew how broken he was. The Stormsword had less warmth and compassion than her fellow Shieldmaiden Rikke but greater drive and ambition. Windhelm would need a leader like her in the future. His future children would need a mother like her, for the bearing if not the raising.

            His rationalisations helped him during the days that followed. The moon sugar-fortified ale helped him during the nights. It dulled the pain and gave him a detachment that let him perform in spite of Elenwen’s… conditioning. Given that Sigdrifa wasn’t fond of anything other than Talos, he knew she wouldn’t want him paying too many visits to bed. Thankfully she conceived three years into their marriage and again the year after that, bearing sturdy boys with his loud lungs and her turquoise eyes.

            They looked at each other once Egil passed his first naming-day and Ulfric recognised the gleam in her eyes. _He was now expendable._

It never occurred to her that she too was expendable. Ulfric had quiet words with Galmar, who’d helped wean him off the alcohol and ease some of the pain, and the huscarl made arrangements. No doubt Sigdrifa sent a sum of money and a letter to her Dark Brotherhood contact, the failed Shieldmaiden Astrid.

            Talos willing, such arrangements would never be needed. But Ulfric had a legacy and a country to protect.

            He would try to be the strong leader Skyrim needed. There was no one else.


End file.
